


giveth and taketh away

by princessrorora



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, garcy, oops i thought you were dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessrorora/pseuds/princessrorora
Summary: old tumblr prompt fill: “You’re supposed to be dead! We buried you!” “Hmm, so that’s why people have been looking at me so funny.”
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	giveth and taketh away

The minute Lucy opened her eyes, she regretted it.

Sunshine. Bright, beautiful, annoying, sunshine. The long rays of light seeped in through the windows, shining directly onto her face. She cursed under her breath, startling herself into stillness as she realized the words tumbling out of her mouth were not English. _Great. Just another reminder._ Lucy closed her eyes on the burning sunshine and buried her head under the pillow that was beginning to smell more and more like her and less like someone else.

She tried to go back to sleep, but her eyes burned with insufferable tears and her head was throbbing. Lucy was cursed to be awake, and so, she knew she _should_ drag herself out of bed. Shower. Wear normal, 2018 clothes and try and interact with her teammates.

But it was a lot harder to do that nowadays. Lucy didn’t want to face her friends and see their easygoing smiles shift to pity the second she walked into the room. She hated seeing their happy reunions being put on hold just because she emerged to snag a cup of coffee or come to aid in a Rittenhouse alarm. Jiya had Rufus back and Wyatt had Jessica back and hell, even Connor figured out a way to have someone in his life.

Amy was still gone. Her mother was still dead. Her father was still rotting away in a cell. And Lucy Preston was alone.

She opened her eyes, dragging the covers over her head and simply staring at the creased cotton sheets. Her friends would insist she wasn’t alone, that she had them, that if she needed anything at all, that they would be there for her. But that wasn’t altogether true, now was it? There would always be that layer of pity and misunderstanding and anything they could have said wouldn't have helped. Try as they might, as appreciated as their best efforts were, it still would never be enough.

The one person in the bunker that she could talk to without fear of judgment or lack of understanding was gone. In fact, it had been a week ago today that they’d lost him. A week. A full seven days. _How?_ Lucy pressed her face into the sheets, inhaling deeply and whimpering when the scent of her own shampoo invaded her senses. Little by little, he was fading away to nothing more than a memory with nothing left behind. It still startled her just how affected by it she was. 

But things hadn’t been the same as they were at the beginning. Garcia Flynn wasn’t this time-traveling bandit trying to blow key moments in history to smithereens and kill them without batting an eye. He had become an ally, a team member, a friend, and then…

Lucy chewed on her lip. She’d been on the cusp of admitting it. Admitting to _actually_ having feelings for _Garcia Flynn_. She’d known all along that his own feelings for her had grown deeper. He'd always cared about her, for the Lucy who had given him the journal and set him on his path of destiny. But they'd changed and shifted to _her._ The Lucy she was, and not who she might be one day. 

She’d known how he cared, how he shadowed her, how he stood up for her, and looked to her for advice or guidance. She’d known in the quiet way he looked at her, how his green eyes would darken with intensity, how they could have silent conversations just by glancing at each other.

Lucy had _known_. He’d been there, a pillar, a light in the darkness. Someone to remind her to hope, to never give up, to believe they really could change the world, and save the people they loved. And they had, clearly. They’d gotten Rufus and Jessica back when it had seemed so impossible. But in the process…they’d lost him.

Lucy’s stomach clenched, and she curled herself into a tight ball. Tears cascaded uninvited down her cheeks. She didn’t know it was even possible to cry so much, and her body ached from the repetitive agony of it all. She’d mourned Amy, mourned her mother, mourned the loss of Wyatt and the chance they might have had. But nothing compared to what losing Garcia Flynn was like.

She snorted in disbelief. Had anyone told her last year that losing him would hurt worse than all the rest of what she’d gone through, she would have laughed in their face. But now? Now she couldn’t stop crying and drinking and staring at that damned journal and wondering what the hell she was supposed to do now.

Eventually, the tears slowed and her breathing evened out. If she fell asleep again, she didn’t know for sure. Just that the next time she opened her eyes, she felt an acute awareness of …something.

Lucy slowly sat up, her head aching a little less. The sunlight that streamed in seemed lessened somehow as time had passed, so she _must_ have dozed off. But these were secondary things to notice. The air felt different. Something had shifted.

If a Rittenhouse alarm had gone off, she would have known. And even if the team had left without her, she still wouldn’t actually be aware of any changes made to history until they came back. But still…the alarm would’ve been hard to miss, hangover and tears or not.

Lucy winced and slipped her legs over the side of the bed. Unconsciously, her gaze drifted to the chair across the room. She smiled lazily, her mind bringing the image of him sitting there, arms crossed, smiling at her on that first morning after the night they'd bonded. She could still taste the coffee he’d made her, still hear his laugh and see the embarrassed flush on his cheeks after his joke had fallen flat. She could still see the huge grin on his face and the warmth in his gaze when she’d admitted he was the easiest person to talk to and the nervous flutter of butterflies in her stomach that she hadn’t been able to make sense of.

Shivering, Lucy shook her head in an effort to get it on straight. She bent over to find her lost socks and then got up, her body cracking and creaking as she shuffled across the room. She grumbled under her breath as she yanked the door open, noting that it seemed harder than usual. Heavier, somehow.

She looked up as she stepped out of the room, the cool air of the bunker hallway hitting her cheeks. The sound of voices and shuffling footsteps caught her attention, and she sucked in a deep breath as she turned in the direction of the common area, preparing herself for the dance on eggshells her teammates would no doubt be performing the minute she walked into the room.

Before she could even step away from the door, a tall figure appeared around the corner, glancing over his shoulder as he sped towards her. Lucy’s breath caught in her throat as he skidded to a stop in front of her, his old familiar face somewhat blurred in her exhausted vision.

“Ah, Lucy. Good. You’re up.” He said briskly, his voice sounding like music. “We’ve got a bit of a problem.”

So, she was dreaming, then. That explained the weird feeling in the air. That explained how Garcia Flynn would be standing in front of her, existing in this time and place like nothing had happened.

And if she was dreaming, then it didn’t matter that she wordlessly stepped forward and looped her arms around his middle. It didn’t matter that she nestled herself against his warm, sturdy chest and closed her eyes, and breathed him in. His heartbeat sounded so real against her cheek, and she held him a little tighter. Dreams were cruel, but even the cruelest of dreams brought comfort, no matter how brief. The amount of relieved, wonderful dreams she’d had in the wake of Amy’s loss had always left her empty when she’d awoken. But in that dreamland, Amy still existed, with her strawberry shampoo and warm smile. 

And now, it was where Garcia Flynn existed too.

His awkward chuckle rumbled and bounced against her, his hands warm and gentle as he rubbed against her back, and it felt _so real_. His sweater was warm and soft beneath her touch, and he smelled _so good_ , despite the cheap soap he used and the cold, steely bunker air that invaded everything. It was the same smell she had cried herself to sleep missing, the same smell she’d grown to love over the months they’d grown closer.

A problem. He’d mentioned a problem? But there were no problems allowed. Not here. Not in this place where he still existed.

“I’ll say. It’s that you’re not really here.” She whispered. “I’m dreaming. And soon, I’ll wake up, and you’ll still be gone. Just like Amy.” Lucy choked on her words, holding him tighter, hardly noticing the sharp intake of air he drew.

“Gone? Lucy, what are you...I’m not gone.” He chuckled, carefully slipping his arms around her, and she sighed dreamily, rising onto her tiptoes to nestle her face into the crook of his neck.

“Yes, you are.” She mumbled. “And it’s ‘cause of me. You just _had_ to go back, just had to put yourself there, and now…now _you’re gone_. And it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Lucy.” He murmured.

“Yes, yes it is.” She shuddered. “You went back for me, you giant idiot. You went back for me, and now you’re dead and it’s _my fault_.”

He fell silent, and she half expected him to fade away, now that she’d spoken of reality. That’s how these dreams worked. But instead, he was still there, sturdy and warm and clucking under his breath and dragging his fingers through her tangled hair. Humming lowly, he calmly said, “Lucy, _draga_ , I’m not dead.” He held her tighter. “And even if what you’re saying really did happen, I’d do it a thousand times over, if it meant you were safe.”

Lucy snorted, laughing dryly under her breath. “Stop it. You _are_ dead.” She choked out, her eyes burning with a fresh wave of tears. Now she _wanted_ to wake up. So often she’d had dreams of Amy, of her warmth and kindness only for her sweet sister to shift into something of Lucy’s own inner insecurity. Her deepest fears would be spoken out of her sister’s mouth, and then, Lucy would wake up and realize it had all been a dream.

And now, dream Garcia Flynn was insisting he was alive, promising his sacrifice had been for the better, for her, and soon enough she’d wake up and be just as alone as she’d been when she’d fallen asleep.

“Lucy, I’m not dead.” He said seriously.

He was gently extricating himself from her arms, his fingertips brushing along her jaw as he lifted her head. Garcia was looking down at her carefully, green eyes liquid and intense as ever, and yet…there was something there. She moved mechanically as her brain began to process the image of him before her, the lack of haziness around him that might indicate a dream. Her hands squeezed at his sweater, at his sides, moving to his arms to pinch at his bicep. The corner of his lips crooked upwards, and he was in the midst of no doubt making some stupid joke, but her shriek cut him off.

“You’re…you’re _alive_?” She chortled, shaking her head. “No, no, no…you’re…you’re supposed to be dead!” Lucy looked up at him quickly, scanning his face anxiously. “We buried you!”

Her mind was playing the cruelest of tricks on her. Never before had a dream been this deep, this real. She always woke up, always startled and the chill of reality would bite her in the butt and that would be that. Maybe that last shot of vodka had done her in. That would explain it. Maybe she was suffering some sort of alcohol poisoning that was making her lose her mind because there was no way in hell that Garcia Flynn was actually standing in front of her right now.

“Huh.” He said lamely, face scrunching up in confusion. “That explains it then.” A bittersweet smile formed on his face.

“No, no, I’ve got to be dreaming.” She gasped, tears spilling from her eyes. “This can’t be real.”

“Hey, hey, Lucy.” Garcia’s voice sounded warm and sweet, and his touch was so real as he moved his hands to cup her face. “I’m not dead. I don’t know what happened, but I’m alive.” His thumb caressed her cheek. “You’re not dreaming. I’m right here with you. Real as can be.”

“But, you _can’t_.” She whimpered.

“I am.” He nodded. “Explains the funny look I just got. And, well, my problem.” He chuckled. “I was coming to get your help, actually. Rufus passed out cold in the kitchen when he saw me.”

Lucy blinked. “W-what?”

“Shrieked ‘zombie’ and then…yeah.” He snickered. “Makes sense now.”

Lucy laughed dryly. “Makes no sense at all, actually.” She brought her hands to his shoulders, shivering from the solid weight of him beneath her fingertips. “But…but you can’t be here. I…I mean…we brought you back…we tried to save you but you…you died, Garcia.”

He dragged his thumbs across her cheeks, brushing tears away as they fell. “I don’t know what happened, Lucy. Something clearly…has happened. But I don’t remember, ah, dying. You all do, but I don’t.” He leaned forward, and Lucy sighed as his lips brushed against her forehead. “But I’m here, Lucy. We’ll figure this out, but please, I promise this is real, that I’m real and alive here before you.”

Lucy stared up at him, her hands moving to grasp at his wrists. She wanted to deny it, because despite everything that she’d seen over the course of all this, _this_ was impossible. There was never a day where Rufus just suddenly appeared after he’d died. They’d had to defy the laws of everything they believed just to get him back. They’d thought they would have to do the same thing to even chance getting Garcia back. But he’d just…appeared out of nowhere. And _how?_

Lucy closed her eyes, leaning her face into his palm. She counted to ten in her head, fully expecting when she opened her eyes again to be waking up alone. Instead, he was still standing in front of her, still holding onto her and looking at her like _that_.

“You’re alive.” She whispered. “You’re alive.”

“I’m alive.” He promised, his eyes liquid and soft as he scanned her face. “Are you all right?”

Lucy stepped closer to him, her hands moving to his shoulders once more. She leaned against him, rising up onto her tiptoes so she could press her lips against his. It was a soft, short kiss, and he seemed stunned into stillness by it. But it sent sparks flying through her, every nerve ending alight with the notion that somehow, someway, this was no dream, and that he was really there, right in front of her. Lucy Preston wasn’t alone any longer.

“You’re alive.” She whispered against his lips. “I’m more than all right.”

“Well.” He murmured. “If dying is what I’ve got to do-“

“Stop.” She laughed, cutting him off with another kiss.


End file.
